


Touchdown!

by parkernoir



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: First Date, It's literally just Peter and Johnny at a baseball game being dicks, first date?//?????????, i didnt establish that but whatever, i hate baseball, spideytorch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23406961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkernoir/pseuds/parkernoir
Summary: Peter and Johnny go on a date at baseball game and do everything but watch the game.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Johnny Storm
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	Touchdown!

“You’re absolutely sure I don’t look dumb?” Peter asked. He stuck his pointer finger into the collar of his black turtleneck, pulled it, and frowned when it snapped back into place. It _itched_. And the belt he was wearing was way too tight. “I look like Steve Jobs. Where are my old glasses?”

MJ rolled her eyes, grabbed Peter’s shoulders, and forced him to face the mirror. “You look fine, Pete. Stunning. Show-stopping. I can come up with more adjectives if you want.”   
Peter pouted. “I just don’t get what’s wrong with my normal clothes. This doesn’t feel like-”

“Please don’t say it doesn’t feel like you. You only feel at home in sweater vests, and I honestly think you need to get your head examined.” MJ said bluntly. She reached over Peter’s shoulders to fold the neck of his sweater over. “Also, literally nobody is forcing you to dress up. You are aware it’s like ninety degrees out? And you’re going on a date with someone who runs at like a million degrees?”

“2,800. When he’s lit up.” Peter corrected, to which MJ scoffed.

  
“Stop moving your head around. I’m trying to make your hair look less stupid.” She scolded and flicked his forehead, right in between his eyebrows. “I rest my case. You’re going to get heat stroke and die.”

_My hair looks dumb?_ Peter blew a stray piece of hair out of his eyes and set an internal reminder to get a haircut. He glanced back in the mirror. “I take it back. I look like one of those sad, sad dogs that people force to wear people clothes.” 

“A cute sad dog.” MJ assured as she stared intently at Peter’s hair. “Johnny’s not gonna care that you look like that one picture of the Rock in a turtleneck. Or possibly Howard from Big Bang Theory. He likes you.”

Peter laughed softly, but his breaths still came in all shaky and wrong. “I don’t know anything about baseball.” He admitted. There was a loose string coming off of his sleeve, and Peter wanted to pull it so badly. 

“Does anybody really know anything about baseball?” MJ raised an eyebrow, and clapped Peter on the arm. “We both have places to be. Have fun overheating.” She swiped his wallet off of her bed and handed it to him gracefully. MJ could make anything look graceful or cool or casual. Peter made everything look stiff and awkward. 

Peter was _this_ close to getting out the door, but a hand on his chest stopped him. “Hey, genius,” MJ said fondly, and held up Peter’s dark green backpack. “You never leave home without it.” 

Peter cradled the pack in his hands and sighed. “Is it rude to bring Spidey on a date?” He asked MJ, even though he didn’t care about the answer. He’d bring it. 

“Extremely. Now go knock ‘em dead.”  
  
-

Peter regretted the turtleneck as soon as he stepped outside, and it was only worse by the time he showed up in front of the Yankee Stadium. Mary Jane hadn’t been exaggerating when she said it was around ninety degrees out- ninety three, to be exact. The dead of summer. 

Two taps on Peter’s shoulder. “Hey- Oh, man, sorry. I’m looking for my hot date and you’re like, average-looking at best.” Johnny said with a shrug and a mischievous smile. Johnny, ever smarter than Peter, was wearing a normal, solid blue t-shirt and shorts. Always repping the team colors.

  
“You know, I was just about to say the same thing.” Peter replied, shrugging his backpack farther up his shoulders.

  
“Hey, Webhead.” Johnny said, quiet enough so only Peter heard. And- Peter must’ve been imagining it- Johnny looked bashful. Possibly even shy. Nervous? “I brought the tickets, and you brought… a backpack that’ll definitely get checked at the entrance. You got contraband in there?” 

Peter sighed and flipped the pack around so it hung down his front. Johnny watched as he unzipped the big pouch and peered inside. There it was. Red and blue spandex, clear as day. And a green t-shirt. _MJ, you’re too good for this world._ “Could’ve ended my career, there. Hang tight.” 

Sneaking around the outside of Yankee Stadium to find a good spot to web a backpack to a wall was one of the harder things Peter had attempted. Changing out of the oppressive turtleneck and into the offensive t-shirt was slightly easier, but still difficult. Especially stuck to the wall.

  
“Oh, were we supposed to bring two outfits?” Johnny asked when Peter reappeared, pointing at Peter’s bright green shirt. He raised an eyebrow and Peter scoffed.

  
“First date 101, Storm. One-oh-one,” Peter said with a smile pulling at his cheeks. Johnny mirrored his expression and Peter worried his heart might burst. 

-

It became evident quite quickly that a baseball game was possibly the worst date location. Neither Johnny nor Peter knew a damned thing about the sport, Johnny didn’t seem too invested in much other than something caught under his nail, and Peter was dangerously close to dying from dehydration. In retrospect, Peter could hardly remember why he chose the Yankees v. the Braves as his and Johnny’s first date. Peter had never taken a guy on a date before, so it seemed suitable that they’d do something manly and macho like watch a baseball game together. Or something. 

The game was slow, too. Real slow. Johnny left a few times- once to go to the bathroom, once to try and force himself in front of a camera so he could get broadcasted, and another to go find food. Johnny came back from his hot dog hunt empty handed, with said hands shoved into his pockets. “I forgot my wallet and apparently the lady serving the hot dogs isn’t a Fantastic Four fan. What can you do?” He said apologetically, and plopped down next to Peter again.   
A loud _plink_ echoed through the air, causing Peter to flinch. He watched, forced by his own stupid spider sense, as a baseball richocheted off the batter’s bat and flew into the stands. It hit the back of someone’s chair and sent a _thunk_ echoing through the park. Johnny was cackling over Peter’s frightened reaction. Then, he lifted his hands above his head and yelled, “Touchdown!”

  
The guy behind Johnny must’ve lost his sense of humor in a tragic accident, because he scowled at the back of Johnny’s head like he had laser eyes. Maybe he did. Peter put his arm around Johnny and pulled him a little closer to save him from premature bald spots. 

“What do you see out there, John?” Peter asked in his best impression of a sports announcer. He brought his head level with Johnny’s and squinted out at the field.   
Johnny snickered and leaned forwards. “Well, Pete, number two is getting ready to bat. Look at the way he swings that bat. Extraordinary. And now we’ve got the pitcher- what was his name again?”

“Boris Flemmington.” Peter said as flatly as he could.

  
“Boris F- did you make that up? Boris Flemmington is pitching, and he is _ready_. Look at the way he tips his hat down, there. He’s gonna pull off his finishing throw, the- what was it called again, Pete?”  
“The Ball Buster.”

“Flemmington here is about to execute his signature move, the Ball Buster. Legend has it that he’s busted at least one hundred balls-”

“Can you two shut the hell up?” The same guy as before piped up in a thick Boston accent.

  
“The birdcalls are beautiful this time of year, John,” Peter continued.

They got bored of commentating the game about ten minutes later, and the game was only in its second inning. Peter could tell Johnny was getting antsy- he watched the ball intensely, bounced his leg, drummed his fingers on Peter’s arm, and made tiny flames dance back and forth between his fingers. Peter waved his hands in the direction of the flames to put them out. It was way too hot out to be playing with fire.

Fortunately, Peter’s stomach growled and he officially had a reason to spend money on food. “Come on. Garbage stadium food. My treat.” He patted the back pocket of his jeans. Johnny took that as an invitation to slap Peter’s ass. Laser-eyes was definitely going to murder them.

  
They took a tour around the sheltered concession areas. Hand-in-hand, they stopped by each stand and struggled to decide what was actually worth buying. Two day old hot dogs or stale caramel corn? Frozen lemonade sounded like a nice way to cool down from the heat, but the stand was mysteriously shut down. Johnny insisted they get ice cream, because it was served in little bowls shaped like baseball helmets, but each scoop was five bucks and Peter knew a scam when he saw one. Eventually, they circled back to the sketchy hot dogs and bought two for $8.73. Johnny put an obscene amount of toppings on his, claiming nutrition.

On the way back to their seats, a big guy shoulder checked Peter. Just a bump that didn’t even manage to nudge Peter off course. Despite that, Peter turned, eyebrows knitted together, and said, “Hey, watch it!”

The big dude turned, face equally contorted with anger. “What was that? Watch where _I’m_ goin’?” He asked tensely, stepping up to Peter. The guy’s friend looked excited. Smaller dude.   
“You heard me, handsome. Hey, question. You ever heard of Colgate? Crest? Arm and Hammer? _Tom’s_? It might be a worthwhile investment on your part-”

“Who do you think you are?” The guy said, eyes bulging. Peter felt a hand on his shoulder. 

Peter ignored it. “Oh my gosh, wait. Dad? Is that you? After all these years, you-”

“Peter. Drop it,” Johnny warned, attempting to pull Peter back by the shoulders. 

“You should listen to your friend, there,” The big guy’s pal said, crossing his arms smugly. It was way too hot out for that guy to be wearing an Armani sweater. 

“I’m not looking for a fight.” Peter said, arms raised. Somewhere behind him, Johnny sighed. “I’m just looking for this Kingpin rip-off to learn how to walk in a straight line.”

The next thing Peter saw was a fist. 

Peter and Johnny got back to their seats. Johnny looked bored and Peter sported a brand new black eye. It was safe to say the date wasn’t going fantastically. And Peter wasn’t one to just roll over and die, especially in front of a pretty guy. He decided as he watched Johnny struggle to fit his entire hot dog into his mouth that he would do something awesome. Something super impressive. Like… Peter watched another baseball fly high up into the air and crash into the stands. People cheered as a little kid held up the ball triumphantly.

  
Peter was gonna catch a baseball for Johnny.

  
“Get up. We’re moving seats,” Peter said, grabbing Johnny by the arm. He tugged Johnny to his feet and pushed him forwards into the aisle. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” Johnny pleaded, reluctantly stumbling forwards. He raised his hand to cast a shadow over his eyes to block out the sun. 

“Cause we have horrible seats. We need to be further out that way.” Peter explained vaguely, and started dragging Johnny up the stairs. 

“Away from the middle of the field. Where you have the best view of everything. We need to be… not in the best seats in the stadium?” Johnny said skeptically. He tried to stop Peter from pulling him away by heating up the skin of his arm. Peter snapped his hand away, offended. 

“Do you trust me?” Peter asked, rubbing at his irritated wrist. 

Johnny rolled his eyes and said, “Sure. Sure I trust you, Pete. I think you need to get your head examined, but whatever you’re doing is more interesting than the pitcher’s ass.” Peter’s eyes widened in further offense. “I’m joking. I’m joking! The heat is getting to your brain.” 

Johnny tapped the side of Peter’s head twice with his knuckles. 

Turns out, the new seats Peter had found for Johnny and himself weren’t ideal for catching stray baseballs, either. Or maybe the batters had suddenly gotten really good. Whatever it was, there seemed to be a sudden shortage of foul balls. Peter sunk down into his seat with his arms crossed and pouted. What was he supposed to do to impress Johnny now? Move _back_ to their old seats without an explanation? A stray ball slapped against the net when he huffed audibly.   
“What, you wanna catch one of those or something?” Johnny asked. His tone was mocking. He was _mocking_ Peter.

“Or something!” Peter shouted. The woman seated next to him glared at Peter for startling her. 

“Aw, it’s okay, Pete.” Johnny reassured, smacking the top of Peter’s head. “Stray balls are lame anyways. ‘Here, take this ball covered in dirt and fingerprints that represents a batter’s failure.’ Also, there’s a little kid sitting directly above us. You wanna reach up and take a baseball from a little kid?”

  
“It’s not stealing if the kid never had it in the first place!” Peter said with his teeth clenched. 

“You’d go criminal for me?” Johnny swooned, shoving Peter’s face away. 

Peter was either going to die of heatstroke or boredom; whichever came first. Whoever said that you couldn’t be bored with your soulmate or whatever was a liar. What really happened was you got bored _together_. 

There were three significant events in baseball, Peter and Johnny decided, and none of them were very interesting. 1. Batter swings and misses. 2. Batter swings and hits the ball, but it flies literally any direction but forward. 3. Batter hits the ball and someone on the other team catches it. Rinse and repeat. 

“What do you think’s gonna happen this time?” Johnny asked. He was using Peter’s arm as a place to press his elbow. His chin rested in his palm, and his eyes were half-open like he was about to doze off. 

“Number two.” Peter guessed, equally as lifeless. He could hardly think past the heat wafting through the thick air. Peter was almost certain if he had a knife on him, he could chop the air in half. It felt so solid. Like he was sitting in Jello. 

The batter swung and knocked the ball way off to the left. “You are a prophet.” Johnny said in half-assed awe. 

“Can you burn the sun away?” Peter requested, wiggling his arm to shake Johnny’s head.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Johnny replied. 

“You won’t even try?” Peter whined. 

Johnny sighed dramatically, squeezed his eyes shut, and glared up at the sun. He held his free arm out and bent his fingers. They shook with fake strain. 

“What, are you Magneto or something?” Peter asked with a small smile. Johnny smirked, like he was trying to hold in a grin.

“Shhh. I’m concentrating.” He said, twisting his hand around and gritting his teeth. 

Peter humored him and watched as Johnny contorted his expression and hand with all of the determination in the world. Johnny kept the joke going for so long that Peter nearly zoned out completely on Johnny’s fingertips. Suddenly, Johnny snapped his fingers and an explosion of heat blinded Peter’s vision and blew stinging warmth against his cheeks. When the whiteness in his eyes faded away and he could see again, all he could hear was Johnny cackling. “It worked!” He announced, hands high in the air. 

“You’re a jerk,” Peter pouted half-heartedly. He rubbed at his eyes. 

“You can’t do that here, Mr. Storm,” A large man in a black t-shirt said when Peter opened his eyes. That guy was definitely security. Peter could tell by his sunglasses. 

Johnny nudged Peter’s side and said, “Hear that, Pete? I’m a _mister_.” 

“Are you actually Johnny Storm?” The lady sat next to Peter piped up. Wow, it looked like she’d been holding that question in for a while. She practically leaned over Peter’s lap, accusing eyes searching Johnny’s face. 

“I’m actually Ben Grimm. Common mistake.” Johnny said. The woman whipped around, rifled in her purse for a moment, and shoved a pen and paper into Johnny’s hand. Johnny gripped the pencil and lifted it daintily like it was his instinct to _sign things_. What a jerk. Peter adored it. “Am I signing this for anybody?”

The woman paused and squinted at her lap. “Can I have more than one person?”

“See, I told you I was more popular.” Johnny said smugly when they inevitably left their seats again to wander around. Peter wasn’t sure if he’d seen even five consecutive minutes of the game at that point. 

“There are so many flaws in what you just said. A: I never said I was more popular than you. B: Yes, Johnny Storm is gonna draw more attention than dude with brown hair number two thousand and sixty five.” Peter said. Johnny just hummed triumphantly and swung Peter’s hand around in a circle as they walked. 

“I win.” Johnny said. 

“Fine.” Peter replied. “You win.”

“I’m bored. Can we leave and go get actual food?” Johnny pleaded, pointing towards a set of doors. The brightly lit EXIT sign called Peter’s name. 

“Yeah. You pick where we go next time. This was a bust.”

Johnny snorted. “A ball bust?” 

Peter laughed and followed Johnny out the doors. 

  
  


That date was a win in Peter's book, even if they hadn't actually watched any baseball and Peter probably got heatstroke. Johnny had slapped Peter's ass and called him average-looking and laughed a few times. And there was an excessive amount of hand holding. That was good enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't deep or anything it's just quarantine boredom and indulgence take it  
> tumblr parkernoir  
> twitter websforbrains


End file.
